


Way too good at good byes

by ha_nothanks



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, First Person, M/M, POV Multiple, Short, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 04:36:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12904197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ha_nothanks/pseuds/ha_nothanks
Summary: Sometimes people want things. Sometimes people are dumb.





	1. We can't do this

“We can’t do this”

  
He sighs as if it’s not something so important to him as he runs his hands through that stupidly perfect hair of his, even when it’s as mussed up as it is from my hands running through it.

“Well Peril, can’t say I didn’t see that coming.”

He’s acting so casually as he straightens out his clothing, still in the same position on the couch as when I pressed him into it. Does he care so little. Maybe it really is for the best we don’t do this. Still. It hurts.

He’s getting up now, heading over to the [alcohol cabinet] as always, as if we just had a chat. Maybe I really am just like all the women he brings to his bed.

“Drink?” He turns to me so damnably casually. Those eyes looking at me as if they hadn’t just been looking at me with need.

“No. Thank you.” He hums then. I can’t stand this. I feel my fists clenching at my sides, I have to make a conscious effort to relax them. I’m sure he’s noticed. Even though I said we can’t, as I look at the broad back of his, I just want to reach out and press my hand between those shoulder blades. I turn and head to the door instead.

“I’ll… see you at the debriefing” I pause with my hand on the door handle.

“See you then.”

I can hear the ice shift in his drink as he takes a sip. I leave before I can do anything foolish. How can he be so cold. I know I was the one to say no, but…

“Say hi to Gaby for me.”

It feels like a knife to the chest. I shut the door behind me.  
___

“Say hi to Gaby for me.” I know it’s needlessly mean, twisting the knife in as a parting goodbye. As I push my hair back my whole body slumps, it’s really not like I didn’t see this coming. I feel foolish, I let myself get too close. I let him too close. Haven’t I learned.

I sigh as I look into the scotch as if it has the answers to my problems, and doesn’t it. I want to toss it across the room, I want to shake, I want to fight. But. All I feel is a cold acceptance. It doesn’t hurt.

Knocking back the rest of the scotch I gracelessly slump onto the couch, the couch where we just were. Did I promise myself not to let anyone close again. What was I thinking. He has Gaby, of course he just got caught up in the moment. The adrenaline of the after mission quiet. Gaby. Oh god, what would she think of me, letting this happen. Would she hate me. I don’t understand what they have, sure, but I do love to watch them together. She softens him, in a way no one else can. She can quiet the rage in him, stop him from doing stupid things. I just make him do stupid things. Always pushing at whatever will get a response. I did try and help them get together. If they were together, then I couldn’t have either of them. And yet. Here I am, staring at the ceiling, sitting where I almost let something horrendously dumb happen.

Why did he even let it get this far. I’m the unscrupulous one. He’s supposed to be the one with the moral fiber. He did stop it. But why there. Why not before that.

Am I still as niave as when I was young, before the war.

I learned, I toughened up.

I said I would never let myself hurt like that again.

And it doesn’t hurt. It should hurt. But right now it’s just a cold acceptance.

Why do I want it to hurt.


	2. Should have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon had been in love before, when he was young and too niave to know any better. He should have known better.
> 
> (TW: Mentioned noncon)

He was 14 when he fell in love with the person he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with. Young and in love, foolish, thinking that “I’ll love you forever” really meant forever. That the kisses behind the shed out back were declarations of love for years to come, that the heated touches were the result of a fire burning so brightly, it would never burn out.

 

He had always had a big heart, and loved freely. He was well liked and had many people he called friends. He wasn’t richest person in the world, but he counted his life as good one. He had people he cared about, who hopefully cared about him just as much.

 

Life wasn’t the most forgiving place, he had learned early on. His father was taken from him by lung cancer when he had been just big enough to see over their kitchen table. His father had always loved to smoke, having no clue it would be the end of him; surely if he had he wouldn’t have done it and left his wife to raise her son all alone.

 

And it was difficult for his mother to raise him, they had relied on his father to be the sole bread winner. He hadn’t made a lot, but he made enough to keep them clothed and fed, and relatively happy. Now, she had to go out and find a job, something that would give her enough to take care of her and her son. She protested the idea of him working when he brought it up, saying if he was too young to drive a tractor, he was too young to work. Banish the notion.

 

All he could do was agree and try to make it as easy on her as he could, which, let’s be honest, he maybe could have been a little better at it. But how was he to realize, he was only a kid.

 

So she carried on, with all the strength and power of a mother. She made it work, and to the best of her ability made it so that Napoleon wouldn’t want for anything. Sure, he had to wear old clothes that they got at thrift stores, or that she got from relatives, but they were still decent clothes. And sure, he wouldn’t get any of the nice shiny new things that everyone else his age would go crazy over, but he did have a loving house. And that was enough.

 

The only problem was… He hardly ever saw her now. She would wake early and get him ready for school, make him breakfast, pack him a lunch and kiss his cheek goodbye, then come home far after dark, exhausted from a long day of work and make them a late dinner.

 

Often times she would be so exhausted, the dinner they would have would be ready made or leftovers from the day before. She tried her hardest, and Napoleon appreciated it all, but it wasn’t fair to her to have to do everything, so he decided if she wouldn’t let him work, then he would at least cook for them. She seemed easily convinced, it really was taking a lot out of her to juggle everything.

 

After she agreed, he started to cook as often as possible. He had helped her make meals before or watched her when he couldn’t help, so he understood the basics. He started out with simple meals, scrambled eggs and toast with jam. A simple pasta with tomato sauce and a side of broccoli. Or whatever they had in the fridge that day.

 

But as time wore on he got bolder with his cooking, wanting to give her something to look forward to and perk up her days when she got home. He figured out what he could do with their simple ingredients and charmed their neighbors into lending him recipes and ingredients. He felt proud and delighted at his accomplishments, and every time she would smile at him and tell him it was delicious he felt the motivation to make it even better next time.

 

Cooking didn’t take up all of his time though. Since she was gone for so long throughout the day, he had a lot of free time to fill with hijinks and mayhem. And that’s how he met Jack.

 

Napoleon knew he was good looking, even at that young age, and he used it to his advantage on more than one occasion. When he got into trouble for something dumb, he would flash a smile and all would be forgiven. If he forgot to get something for someone’s birthday, he would frown and apologize (he did really feel sorry) and just like that his presence was enough. When he got stealing someone’s wallet, he would just smile bashfully and they’d sigh and just tell him to straighten out his ways.

 

So, he was never at a want of someone to be with. He fooled around with the girls at his school, at the boys in the bathroom. It was all fun and games, and he really did love them all. But none of them really captured his heart. Though, that isn’t to say he made it a point to be a heartbreaker.

 

Most of the people seemed ok with him, even after breaking up, because he was just so awfully kind about it. How could anyone hate him for it.

 

Napoleon met Jack in the most cliché way he could think of, for him at least. Jack had bumped into him on the sidewalk on mainstreet and apologized immediately, saying he hadn’t been paying attention. That is, until he noticed that he was one wallet lighter than he had been intending to be. Napoleon, for all his street knowledge, hadn’t even realized he was missing his own wallet yet.

 

After getting over his surprise, Jack smiled with an honest amusement and held out his pilfered wallet to Napoleon, “Trade?”

 

At that, Napoleon stared at his wallet in Jack’s hands with shock, then immediately patted himself down realizing that he was indeed missing his wallet. With a sort of wonder and an amusement matching Jack’s, he offered Jack’s wallet back to him while accepting his own “Trade”.

 

And just like that they became fast friends. Napoleon grew fond of Jack quickly, far quicker than he had anticipated, and before he knew it, he wanted something more. Luckily, or so he thought at the time, Jack seemed to feel the same and their friendship turned into that something more with the smoothness of a spring’s sunny day.

 

Their relationship started out perfectly, in Napoleon’s innocent opinion. When he wasn’t busy at school or cooking for his mom, he would spend all of his time with Jack and he loved everything about it. He loved just holding his hand, or talking about inane things, or practicing pick pocketing (or other not so good things). He loved kissing him and he loved loving Jack. Jack seemed to love loving him too.

 

They spent many a summer day just curled together or running off the dock at the lake in nothing but their birthday suits. It was bliss.

 

It became easy for Napoleon to fantasize about spending the rest of his life with Jack, he didn’t know any better. He was in love, and that’s where love leads, right? Sure they couldn’t get married, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t vow his life to him and spend their days growing older together.

 

The first time that conclusion was pulled into question was when he caught Jack kissing someone else. It’s so silly how simple it was. He was running errands, not expecting to see Jack until later that day, just going to the store to pick up food, when he cut through the backyard of the run down house. It wasn’t the route he always took, but he was eager to get his chores done with so he could go see his Jack. So he took a short cut. He’ll look back on that moment later wondering if he should curse that choice or thank god that he did.

 

In the corner of his eye he saw some movement by the large tree, the leaves had just started turning red as the season turned to fall. That’s when he saw something he wished he hadn’t. Jack. Body pressing Thomas Henderson from St. James into that stupid tree, lips locked and eyes closed. They hadn’t even noticed him yet, how had they not noticed him yet, couldn’t they hear everything shattering around them.

 

He must have made a noise then, he must have yelled, he didn’t know but his throat hurt. They looked at him with a start, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He must have started running because the next thing he knew he was at the Yard. Cursing, he wondered why his feet would take him here of all places, here where he spent most of his time with Jack in that damned shack. He wanted to scream he wanted to cry. He wanted to laugh at himself for being so overdramatic. Oh. When did he start crying.

 

Wiping the tears from his face, it did nothing. They wouldn’t stop. Why was he _here_. And why hadn’t Jack followed.

 

Napoleon went and sat on the ground, leaning against the side of the shed and pulled his knees into his chest and cried until he couldn’t anymore. Still, he was alone.

 

With a weary heart, and knowing his mom would be worried if he wasn’t home before her, he headed to his house. It was only on the way home he realized he hadn’t picked up those groceries. Damn. Well. They had enough food at home for tonight’s food. He’d just go to the store tomorrow.

 

So, he acted like everything was fine when his mother came home, no use worrying her. She had enough to deal with. He explained his subdued mood at being tired from a long day. She didn’t seem completely convinced, but she was too tired herself to press it. Their dinner was quieter than normal.

 

And he should have learned from that. He really should have. But he was weak and young.

 

He’ll definitely look back on this moment and curse his judgement.

 

Later that same night, as Napoleon stared at the his ceiling replaying what he had seen over and over again in his head like some sad horror movie, he heard a knock on his window. And he really shouldn’t have opened it. He shouldn’t have let Jack into his room. He shouldn’t have let Jack talk, shouldn’t have let him apologize, shouldn’t have let him talk himself out of it, and shouldn’t have accepted it. Really shouldn’t have fallen into bed with him in a tearful bitter sweet embrace.

 

But he did.

 

He let himself believe what Jack said, let himself fall for his damned trap even though he really should have known better.

 

And somehow, he thought that was the end of it.

 

Everything went back to the way things were. Or, they didn’t really…. did they. Everything was the same, except… not. Jack was loving, their embraces still full of fire. Their kisses still like a god’s nectar. Except… eventually Jack would start making excuses for why he couldn’t be there that day. Or for where he had been. Why his clothes had mud on them. Oh that? Don’t you remember giving me that hickey?

 

And Napoleon really should have turned away at that point. But he clung to love like a mother not ready to let her son go.

 

He would give in everytime Jack would apologize, everytime he sang him sweet love songs.

 

He was easy, wasn’t he.

 

Maybe too easy, because Jack stopped trying to say sorry as much. Stopped trying to smooth things over, knowing Napoleon wouldn’t leave him. They’d been together for a little over a year, a turbulent year, and he’d figured out how to get Napoleon to stay without saying I love you. He figured out how to keep him without holding him, except for in the way he wanted to hold him.

 

Napoleon would pretend like he didn’t hear what people said about him. He didn’t understand, when had everyone turned against him. All he had tried to do was love.

 

And he still loved Jack, despite it all.

 

But it got easier, every time Jack walked away. Every time he saw Jack’s back, he cried a little less.

 

He learned how to love without loving.

 

 

And he really should have left when Jack stopped caring about treating him nicely. When he started telling him he was only good for a fling.

 

But Jack would hold Napoleon in just the right way and he’d stay.

 

It was when they had been dating for about a year and a half when Napoleon became truly alone.

 

His mother had had a heart attack at work.

 

She worked too hard. She worked too much. He didn’t do enough for her. He should have helped more. He should have worked, he was old enough to drive a tractor! He just- hadn’t thought of it. He hadn’t thought of helping her out, he had been so caught up in the pain of Jack.

 

And she was gone. She would never smile at him over dinner again. She would never scold him for wearing out his clothes too fast again. She would never look at him with barely concealed concern again. She would never be able to give him a hug again.

 

He was alone now.

 

That night he ate dinner alone.

 

That night he went to bed in a dark house with tears staining his face.

 

That night Jack came to him, hearing of his mother’s passing.

 

That night Jack tried to console him.

 

That night…

 

That night Jack tried to console him in an embrace.

 

That night Jack forced his embrace on Napoleon.

 

That night Jack forced himself on Napoleon.

 

That night Napoleon closed his heart.

 

The next day Napoleon faked his papers and enlisted in the Army at the tender age of 16.

 

The next day Napoleon turned his back on the life he lost.

 

And that should have been the end of his silly mistakes in love.

 

And yet, it was because of lover the CIA caught up with him.

 

That _really_ should have been the end of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D;; I hope you uh- liked? it?
> 
> Any writing advice is always appreciated~
> 
> Let me know what you think!! 
> 
> Still 100% inspired by that Nath Brookes song. Ok. Like 90%.
> 
> And don't worry! Next (and last) chapter will be back with the main cast.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I know it's not that good. But! Ha ha, I hope it gets better.  
> I'm planning to have three chapters, I don't know if It'll actually work out.  
> But! If it does, then hopefully I can remove the 'this is not a happy fic' tag. Ha ha ha
> 
> Title from the Nath Brookes song, and 100% inspired by that song


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